What I Am
by Kyrial Halcoryn
Summary: em·pa·thy ĕm'pa-thē n: 1. Identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings, and motives. Peter-centric. Spoilers for end of S4. FINISHED.
1. Beginning of Shadows

Yes! I _am_ Tim Kring! I also had a sex change and emigrated to the UK.

Also, to clear up confusion... this is not a oneshot. It's going to be a four-parter fo' sho'. (It _was_ originally meant to be a oneshot, but things got out of hand, and I couldn't really type fast enough, so it ended up getting bigger. Go figure.)

_

* * *

_

_I am everyone I've ever met, all the people I've touched, ever. _

_Empath. That's the word they used for this._

_You want to know what that feels like?_

* * *

At first, everything was fine. Peachy, in fact, as one might say. Life started to get back to normal, or as normal as things could possibly be with the ability to take on other peoples' powers, a politician brother who could fly and Angela for a mother.

And Sylar was dead.

Annoying, that; the man could regenerate, after all. When the body'd been burnt to ash, whatever it was Bennett stick in the man's head should've burned with it, or melted, allowing him to regenerate. It just felt strange he was gone after all that time of hunting the man down [_how hard were you trying to find and kill him?_].

Not that that meant that all the work was done, though. A series of drownings had been happening a week after Sylar's funeral pyre, and Angela, Nathan and Noah had had their work cut out trying to find the culprit. From the look of things, it'd looked like the murderer had been a disillusioned Special, all the victims being people who'd worked with Danko.

Claire, though, had been forced to get back to higher education, although she still phoned occasionally begging Peter to persuade her dad otherwise, to let her help them 'save the world' [_how naïve, how did she survive, how did you love her like that? don't deny it, you know it's true_]. Every time she phoned with some little details of life trying to return to normal, looking at universities with her adoptive mother, Sandra, even though Claire was living close enough to talk face to face, and still made occasional visits to Peter's apartment, or made arrangements to set up little meetings at cafes together.

Peter himself tried to get back to normal. Work as a paramedic certainly wasn't dull, but what frustrated him so much was that he couldn't _save_ them all any more [_idiot, what did you expect, even _you _don't have the power to bring back the dead yet_] While most of the people he looked after survived, he still agonised about the others who died before the paramedics could get there. People started to note the unnerving fact that the recovery rate was far higher than normal for the paramedic team he worked with.

Then things changed.

* * *

At first, he'd kept Sylar's ability of shapeshifting as a memento, really. He didn't know why [_really? keep telling yourself that, Peter_] he didn't absorb a more useful ability, God knows he knew enough people to ask that favour, God knows enough of them'd be more than willing. It just seemed that _someone_ should keep something of Sylar, so that nobody… well… _forgot_ about him. Mohinder seemed to understand, in a way, just leaving it at that. His brother had just given him an odd look at this, then shrugged and left the entire issue, as he did with so many other issues. Claire really didn't understand the whole thing.

Maybe it was the fact that, for a few days, Peter had thought of Gabriel as a brother, the man buried deep underneath Sylar, the loving father. Or maybe… Well, he wasn't really sure what else it could be, actually [_you mean that you don't want to think about it, do you?_].

* * *

The first time he woke up with a body that didn't fit.

Dreaming of his brother, running away so far that Nathan couldn't catch up, calling for his younger brother to slow down, come back, let him explain…

"_I need to talk to you, Pete. Come back. Please, you have to help me!"_

"_Why should I help you? You betrayed us. All of us."_

"_Pete… please. You have to help, it's him again. He took – "_

Too tall, angular, all the parts of the body the wrong size, he stared at Nathan's face in the mirror in clothes that didn't fit, the muscles slightly more developed than his own. He stared at the man in the mirror for a few seconds, before reversing it, returning to his own body.

* * *

That was probably the first [_second, if you're actually counting here_] indication something had gone wrong.

He'd just passed it off as a one-off event at first. An accident. The dream _had_ been pretty vivid, and most of his abilities had originally been connected to strong emotions rather than finer, more definite control. After all, he was [_emotional, weak_] human, it was natural.

Well… probably human. Human for a given value of human, at least. As human as any of them could possibly be, which was pretty human, after all.

* * *

"_Caitlin?"_

"_Peter… I'm stuck here. Trapped. You left me…"_

_He reached out to her hand between the bars. "No. I can fix it. I can still take you back with me."_

_She glared at him, pulling her hand back from the bars. "Liar. You never wanted me from the start."_

"_That's not true."_

"_It's true, and you know it. Don't lie to me," she hissed, eyes blazing._

"_No. No. I – "_

"_Loved me? So you left me in an alternate future, where there was nothing left but death. There's no way to come back."_

"_I promised I'd find one – "_

"_Don't bother," she spat. "I don't want you." She turned away and walked off as he lunged for her again._

"_Caitlin! Wait!" he yelled – _

* * *

Beep. Beep Beep.

He glared at the answer machine.

"_Hi, this is Peter here, I'm not available at the moment. If you just leave a message after the tone, I'll get back to you. Thanks!"_

"_Peter? Are you there? I need to talk to you, it's about Dad. Bio-dad, I mean."_

Peter got up and picked up the receiver. "Claire? I – " Peter stopped. _Please no._

"_Who is this? Is Peter there?"_

He got up, counted to ten, made his way to the bathroom, shut his eyes, flicked the light switch on and opened them again.

"_Hello?"_

A hiss escaped from between his teeth as Caitlin glared back at him angrily in the mirror, eyes accusing him, furious.

"_Helloo-oo? Did I interrupt something?"_

Peter went back into the bedroom and picked up the phone again. "No. You didn't interrupt anything."

"_Are you his girlfriend or something?" _Claire asked suspiciously.

"No, I'm… just a friend. I dropped by to pick something up. You want me to leave a message for Peter?" _Why the hell am I lying about this?_

There was a crackly sigh over the phone. _"Just tell him I phoned. Claire Bennet. Tell him I need to talk to him pretty urgently about Nathan. Thanks… uh, what's your name?"_

"Caitlin," Peter said quietly, and hung up, lying back down on the bed in the dark as he slipped back into his own body and attempted to get back to sleep.

* * *

The next day, he checked himself before picking up the phone and dialling Claire's number. Eventually she picked up. "_Hello?_"

"Claire… you said you needed to talk?"

"_Yeah. You got the message from Caitlin alright, then?"_

"Yeah. She said something about Nathan. Is he okay?"

"_Yeah, it's just… is it just me, or has he been acting weird recently?"_

Peter stared out the window. "How do you mean?"

"_Well… He's just been acting sort of… spaced out. Detached."_

"I really couldn't say. We haven't been talking much recently, he's been busy. With the new Company. Your dad keeps trying to persuade me to help." He laughed humourlessly. [_as if that's going to happen, he's lucky you don't freeze him and shatter his body into snowflakes after what he did_]

"_Yeah… I keep trying to persuade him to let me help."_

Peter sighed. "Claire – "

"_But actually, I mainly phoned to see how you were. Haven't seen you at the house for a while… so… how are things?"_

"Fine… yeah, they're fine." [_liar_] Peter paused for a second. "Just out of curiosity, if it wasn't urgent, why did you ring at 1am in the morning?"

"_Why was your _friend_ in at 1am in the morning?" _she replied.

Peter glared at the phone. [_she's got you there_]

"_Are you going out with her?"_

"I just _said_ no. She's got one of the keys to my apartment."

"_Fine,"_ she said, clearly not believing him. _"Talk to you again later." _There was a pause. _"You still haven't forgiven him, have you?"_

"…I haven't had much of a chance to talk to him," he admitted, then paused. "Talk to you more later, yeah?"

"_Sure."_ There was a click as Claire hung up on the other end of the phone, and Peter put the handset back down.

Ten seconds later, it rang again; he groaned, and picked it up for a second time. "Who is it?"

"_Noah. I need your help. You've heard of the recent spate of drownings?"_

"Yes," Peter replied, wondering where this was going.

"_I'd like you to help catch the murderer. REBEL sent us video footage from a basement parking lot of one of the victims. It's Tracy Strauss."_

"I thought she was a cryo?" he asked, reaching for a T-shirt. _Not to mention I thought she was _dead_._

"_She was. We think her ability changed after Danko shattered her body."_

"And you want me to help how?"

"_Stick around Danko's apartment. She's bound to turn up there sometime."_

"That's a great plan. How exactly were you planning to get me _in_ Danko's apartment in the first place?" he asked sarcastically.

"_We have a shirt of his."_

"You want me to take his place."

"_You'd stand a better chance of reasoning with Tracy. The Hatian wiped Danko's memories of recent events, and he's currently out. It's the perfect opportunity if she turns up."_

"And if she drowns me?" [_don't even bother doing this_]

"_We'll be two minutes away if things get out of hand."_

"I doubt she'll listen to me. She doesn't trust anyone much."

There was a sigh. _"In that case, I'll have to find something else. I'll probably end up using myself as bait – she'll turn up at my apartment eventually."_

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it."

"_Thanks. I'll see you outside your apartment at 10 a.m. if you're not busy."_

Peter sighed. "No, I'm free today."

"_Excellent."_

* * *

The doorbell rang. Peter opened it to see Noah Bennet holding a white shirt with a pair of latex gloves, as well as a set of keys and a manila file.

Noah smiled when he saw Peter. "I'm glad you've decided to help." He sighed. "We've got enough problems starting up the new Company as it is."

"Still bagging and tagging people?" Peter asked warily. [_kill him_] His finger itched slightly, but he ignored the sensation.

"Only the ones who're actively dangerous. Criminals. The more harmless ones… we just try to explain things to them." [_lying_]

"It sounds better than kidnapping." He took the shirt, and focused, muscles and bone slipping under skin, reforming into a perfect replica of Emile Danko.

Noah winced at this. "That looks painful."

"You have no idea." Peter rolled his shoulders, running his tongue over his teeth. "I'd better make a start."

"You'll need these." The ex-Company agent passed over the file, the keys, and a Tazer. "Just in case she doesn't listen."

Peter took it, giving it a perfunctory glance, then pocketed it. "Thanks."

* * *

After finishing the file, he wandered around Danko's apartment. There wasn't much by way of decoration, really, just a photograph of a younger Danko smiling, with a brown-haired woman and a girl he assumed to be Emile's daughter. Peter wondered exactly _where _the two of them were now and who they'd been, given that the man he'd met hadn't exactly been much of a family person.

_Laura and Rachel. That's what they were called._

Peter's head jerked up at the sound of Danko's quiet voice, then decided he must be imagining things. There was no-one there. Sighing, he decided to try and get some sleep, or at least wait until Tracy turned up.

_I'm supposed to wait for a revenge-bent woman to turn up and drown me. Wonderful. _His face twisted into a humourless smile, then he reached over to the television and switched channels, flicking from program to program every few seconds before finally settling on the news. Peter slumped back down on the armchair again with the remote in hand.

* * *

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_The tap drips away, leaking slightly into the sink. The apartment is silent apart from this quiet, regular noise that marks the time away, and the gentle, barely-audible sounds of someone asleep, breathing._

_Suddenly, the water becomes a gush, filling the sink, flooding over the sides._

_The sound of breathing stops._

_Water suddenly flows smoothly upwards, forming the shape of a woman. She holds her hand, palm facing towards the sink, and the flow slows, then stops. Wet footprints mark her progress out of the kitchen along the hallway._

_Footsteps approach the front of the house. She ducks into the living room as the front door is unlocked._

Perfect,_ she thinks._

_The front door opens just as Tracy Strauss is grabbed from behind._

_~tic~_

_She struggles in his stranglehold, then a ripple appears to pass over her skin as she tries to use her ability, slip into water._

"_Uh-uh. I don't think so." Her captor's hand is suddenly lit up with electricity, a bright blue glow that crackles, promising imminent pain. The voice, deep, soft, silky, smooth and dark like chocolate._

"_Who the fuck are you?" Tracy snarls, trying to twist around in his grip to see her captor's face._

_He leans forward, and breathes, "Sylar."_

_She relaxes suddenly. She knows the name, and knows that there's no point bothering to escape any more._

"_You're deciding to be sensible now. Good."_

"_At least tell me that Danko and Bennett are going to die," she says quietly._

"_Of course they will," he purred. "Now behave, and this won't hurt… much."_

_Obscurely, the only thing she can think of just before she dies is that his breath tickles in her ear, and that such a man should not be so gentle with his victims._

_~tic~_

_The door swings fully open with the quiet chime of keys as Sylar gently lowers Tracy's body down to the floor, then cools and condenses a perfect sphere of water out of the air. _

_Emile Danko steps inside to see the predator, reaches instinctively for his gun as the sphere engulfs him completely. He thrashes around, desperate to break free of its loving embrace. His finger squeezes the trigger, a bullet leaving the silenced muzzle of the gun and finding its target through the shell, burying itself in Sylar's stomach._

_It doesn't do Danko any good, though, Sylar still focusing intently on the drowning agent in front of him despite pain. His screams are muffled, distorted, inaudible through the water as the bullet wound seals itself over, healing rapidly. Eventually, Danko goes limp, collapsing on the floor, lungs flooded with water._

_The first five minutes are crucial in saving a drowning man, and Sylar sure as hell doesn't want to. He holds the water in place until the heart stops beating, then lets it fall, soaking into the carpet._

_He spits out the bullet, cleans it meticulously to remove all traces of his DNA, then smears Tracy's blood on it, and finally lets it lie on the carpet next to her body. Sylar frowns at the hole in his shirt, then shrugs and swaps it for a second one from Emile's closet. It isn't the best fit, but it'll do for now._

_With a last glance at his victims, he steps into the night once more._

_It feels good._

* * *

Peter cracked an eye open to bright light, a water-soaked carpet and two dead bodies in the hallway.

"Shit."

* * *

Review? Please? Anyone who reviews gets a free sample of Dalek dust. I'll spread it around your house while you're sleeping.


	2. Crux: Pivot or Turning Point

I still don't own Heroes.

There _was_ originally a competition here, but I gave up since nobody submitted for it. T_T

_

* * *

_

_Let me tell you a story about a man called Takezo Kensei; you might know him as Adam Monroe instead. There's a story of Kensei and the dragon._

_(It's been corrupted over time. The man was, originally, a drunken bastard mercenary Englishman, and he dedicated 300 years of his life on revenge upon the world, attempting to unleash a fatal virus upon the world and wipe out most of humanity before being locked up for 30-odd years. But let's ignore the nasty details here for once. Are you sitting comfortably?)_

_The man exchanged all his love in return for the dragon to train him, so that he could become a sword-saint. Gave it up in return for power to save his land, his people._

_He saved his country. Became the greatest samurai of his time. Fell in love with a princess. A blacksmith's daughter named Yaeko, in fact, although from what I know... never mind._

_The dragon returned to him, and demanded its price of power - his love. And in return, the man cut out his own heart and gave it to the dragon. "Take this," he says, "for all my love lies in it."_

_In return for power, there is always a price; equivalent exchange. __The dragon will return for your price. And ultimate power begets the ultimate price._

_

* * *

_

Noah stared at the scene. "And you didn't wake up?"

Peter winced slightly at this, back in his own body again. "No. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper sometimes."

"Despite the gunshot." The agent picked up the bloodied bullet between two latex-covered fingers, then dropped it in a plastic bag.

"Yes." [_of course, you didn't wake up after all_]

Noah sighed. "Well… at least you're still alive." He looked at Danko's corpse again. "The outcome could have been a lot worse." He sighed. "We've got a new problem, though."

"What kind of problem?" Peter asked cautiously.

Instead of speaking, Noah passed Peter a developed Polaroid of a boy's body, face down, the top of the skull removed, lying by a cliffside.

[_oops, silly me, almost forgot about that_]

* * *

"_Hi."_

_Jem looked up from the sea to see a man standing next to him. He hadn't heard him coming at all, which was worrying, and Ina hadn't mentioned anything, which was a bad sign. _Then again,_ he thought, looking at the cat curled up in his lap, _maybe she was just asleep._ He stroked her back gently as he looked back up at the man. "Who're you?"_

_Ina woke dazedly, then looked up. *Jem? What is it…*_

_*Nothing, just some guy,* replied Jem._

"_Now that _is_ fascinating," the man murmured, crouching down to look at Ina. "Is she yours?"_

"_More like she's _hers,_" replied Jem warily, getting up. "What d'you want?"_

_*I don't like him,* Ina hissed._

"_Your ability, of course." The man cocked his head. "It's been a while since I did this properly; I don't _need_ to, of course, but still…"_

_*Get away from Jem!* Ina spat at the man as Jem hugged her, backing away. *Let me claw his eyes out, idiot!* She twisted in the boy's arms, slipping free and leaping at the man. Her claws left a bloody scrawl across his bare arms._

_Carelessly, the man flung Ina away from him, leaving her in a limp pile on the grass as she struggled to get up. A twitch of his finger took care of that, leaving the cat's head at an unnatural angle._

"_You killed Ina!" Jem yelled, running towards the small body, furious at the loss of his friend. _No. She can't be…_ Turning around, he lashed out wildly at Sylar, who caught the boy's small fist in midair. His other hand flicked down, slamming Jem into the ground, hard. Bones cracked painfully, as the boy wavered on the edge of consciousness. The footsteps of the murderer approached._

"_Now," Jem heard, "let's see what makes you tick."_

_Pain sliced through his skull just before death._

* * *

"Sylar," Peter whispered through clenched teeth.

"Either that or someone with a very similar ability."

Peter glared at Noah. "How did he survive? We burnt his body…" [_did you?_]

"He has a father with the same ability as his. We suspect he'll be coming to New York quite soon; there are lots of people with abilities living there, after all," Noah said quietly.

He pondered this. "If he has a father with the exact same ability, why haven't we heard about him earlier?"

Noah sighed. "His existence was known by the Company, but we left him alone because he's deadly, and also because he hasn't killed in a while. He fell off the map, in a way. I suspect Danko's Building 26 sent a team after him."

"Which caused him to kill a kid," Peter said angrily.

"Yes." Noah's face was impassive.

_Bastard… _[_back atcha_] "What's going to happen?"

"Probably I'll have to ask the Hatian for help on this one. Under other circumstances, I'd ask for your help, but since you're – "

"Weak?" Peter cut in.

"Shapeshifting isn't directly useful in a combat situation. You'd better get back to your work, they'll be worrying about you," Noah said calmly.

"Fine," he muttered, then left.

* * *

Peter glared at the window as rain spattered against it, the sound of thunder a background to the _spita-spita-spita_ of water.

"_Police have just found the body of 21-year-old Lucian Lawliet near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The deceased doctor appears to have had the upper part of his skull removed in his apartment; his body was discovered at 7.43pm local time. The work appears similar to that of the serial killer known only as Sylar. Chantho?"_

_Again?!!_ Peter stared at the images flashing past on the television, not really processing them properly… [_not me_]

"…_yes, the killer was never caught, although the killings stopped until recently. It's thought that this might possibly be – "_

He switched the TV off, then undressed for bed.

* * *

_He was in the cell, the old one deep in Primatech's old basements, sat there. Just waiting for something to happen._

"_Hello, Peter." A very familiar voice here. Peter looked up._

"_Sylar?"_

_The serial killer raised one eyebrow slightly. "Who else would it be?"_

_He stared as the man got up, moving to sit next to Peter. "But you're dead."_

_Sylar shrugged. "Really?"_

"_This is just a really weird dream, right?"_

"_Wrong." He stood up and snapped his fingers, causing the door to swing open as Sylar stepped towards it. Peter followed suit._

"_What are you doing?" Peter asked quietly, as they walked through the silent corridors of the Company._

"_I'll let you choose today. I'm being nice today."_

"_Choose what?" The doors flicked open in front of the pair, letting them out into the fresh air again._

"_You know. Whose ability I get to take today."_

_Peter stared, aghast. "No. You can't – "_

"_I can and I will. You have no idea how _bored_ I've been recently. It's not as if you even do anything interesting. Having to watch your life when you could do so much more…"_

"_I won't let you do this."_

"_Unfortunately, you don't have a choice."_

_Peter tried to fling out his arm, use some ability, anything, but he found himself pinned in place. Unable to move, he watched Sylar walk off. _

"_Come back!" he yelled. Sylar didn't listen, or didn't hear. Either way, Peter was left there. _

_Paralysed, stuck in a dream._

* * *

The alarm rang, indicating it was time for his night shift at the hospital. _Fun._

Peter got up and lurched over to the bathroom to splash water over his face, stumbling slightly on his way to the door. There was a disgusting taste in his mouth, as if someone had forced him to eat ash and rust. He spat into the sink, but the metallic taste still stuck in his mouth, like iron, like –

_Blood._

He gagged at the thought, causing him to enter a coughing fit.

_Gargle. Spit. Rinse. Gargle. Spit. Rinse._

The taste still wouldn't go away. He reached for the mouthwash in the dark, unscrewed the cap and filled his mouth with it, mint flushing away the burnt flavour. Eventually, Peter just gave up and reached for the cap, but accidentally knocked it onto the floor.

He flicked the light switch.

Sylar smirked back at him in the mirror.

Peter took a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm down. _It doesn't mean anything. It's happened before._

_Just keep telling yourself that, 'brother'. _

"You're dead," he whispered.

_No. Worse luck. _The smile widened.

The familiar pain wracked his body, then Peter Petrelli was leaning against the wall of his bathroom. Back in control.

_Except you're not, are you? Every day, you're losing it. Inch by inch… and you're too proud to say. _Sylar's laughter echoed in his mind.

"I'm fine," replied Peter, gritting his teeth

_Ooh, that tingles._

Peter ignored this, getting dressed for work instead.

* * *

The A&E doors swung open, admitting a crash cart surrounded by several paramedics. One of them rushed for a syringe of morphine, leaving a gap; Peter caught a glimpse of a _very_ familiar face.

Noah Bennet.

Called over to help, he saw the full extent of the man's injuries while working on him. Large gashes ran across his chest, probably caused by some kind of wild creature's claws, an escaped large cat from a zoo, maybe, which would have explained the chunk of flesh missing from the right lower arm as well, but that wouldn't have accounted for the horrific burns running down the left arm…

_He was stalking someone with an ability, _Sylar noted.

Well, _that_ would explain a lot.

"Some kind of big cat, it looks like," muttered one of the paramedics as an IV was attached to the man's arm.

_Lizard, actually. Well… reptilian._

Peter stared into space, as a single bloody memory drifted into his mind.

* * *

_Sylar woke in the darkness, seizing control once more. He smiled to himself._

"_Now… let's have some fun."_

_He focused, using two abilities, suppressing the cellular regeneration so Peter's body would not rip itself apart._

_Animal empathy and shapeshifting._

_Separately, animal empathy was not the most useful ability in the world; he had better things to do than talk to cats or control a swarm of mice. It gave one power over animals, of a kind. Shapeshifting was limited primarily to the forms of other humans, since the changes in DNA were limited. Putting the two together, though, gave a wealth of new possibilities._

_Like this one, for example._

_The process was even more painful than normal, as would probably be expected; the body underwent an even more complete transformation than would usually take place. The feeling was as if his body had been burnt in a furnace. The process had probably never even been done before, and even Sylar had not been entirely sure that it wouldn't kill him. The changes in the anatomy would be enough to destroy anyone._

_And yet… here he was. Alive._

_His breathing returned back to normal. _

_He could see better in the darkness now, outlines easier to make out, although his vision was now monochrome due to lack of visible light; picking up IR instead meant that heat trails were left on objects and in the air. It was almost like looking backwards in time, in a way. Then there was scent and taste, both so strong, lingering on the air and felt through the tongue. Hearing, too, was enhanced, the faint heartbeats just audible through the walls of the apartment, the rattle and cough of car exhaust outside much louder than normal._

_Sylar narrowed his eyes at the window, then leapt up, front legs resting on the windowsill. It was shut, but that was hardly a hindrance. A single flick of a talon, and the catch opened, letting in the night air as the window swung open._

_It tasted bad. _Sour and bitter with pollutants, _he thought, gouging marks in the wood of the windowsill._

_He leapt, soaring upwards into the sky, wings spread wide. _

This high up,_ Sylar thought, _it almost looks like a map.

* * *

_Noah wasn't entirely sure _why_ exactly a 21-year-old woman was living out in the middle of nowhere. However, that wasn't his business. That was just to make sure she was safe, both to herself and others. And if she wasn't, then… well. There was always the dart tranquilliser and Taser, and, as a last resort, actual bullets._

"_Noah? I'm not getting any power readings." Kaylee's voice carried clearly to his headset. The female technopath was back at the car with various devices as backup. Just in case anything went wrong._

"_Right. She could just be asleep, though."_

"_I doubt it. There's nothing on in the house at all. She's probably on holiday or something."_

"_I'll look anyway." Noah crept up to the wall of the house, and carefully looked into the window. "No signs of anyone in the bedroom." Suddenly, he heard Kaylee curse quietly. "What is it?"_

"_Power cut. The generator's out, so I can't do anything long-distance."_

"_That shouldn't be a problem," he replied, checking the rest of the rooms. All empty, unless the target generally bent light around her whilst she slept. Possible, but unlikely. He switched to IR binoculars instead, with the same result. "There doesn't appear to be anyone in. I'm returning to the car."_

"_Right," Kaylee replied edgily. "I'll still be happier when you get back here."_

_Noah made his way back through the woods, and was a quarter of the way there when he heard the quiet crunch of leaf-litter behind him. _

_He kept walking, but coughed. Three times. The signal._

"_Do you have your phone with you?" Kaylee asked quietly._

"_Yes."_

"_Take it out, point the camera."_

_His hand slipped into his pocket, reaching for it. Noah slid it out to read the dreaded sign: NO SIGNAL. "It's not working."_

"_Shit." There was a moment's pause. "I'm coming for you."_

_Noah risked a glance behind him. Animal eyes, yellow, slit-pupilled. "It looks like some kind of cat. A large ani-"_

_Lazily, a cloud drifted from across the moon, as he turned around fully._

" – _mal."_

_He stared at the creature, now fully visible. _

"_Noah? Noah, talk to me."_

_There was no way this thing had escaped from any zoo. It shouldn't have even existed in the first place, for one thing. Or maybe they'd been driven extinct by humans when civilisation started…. Verdant, emerald green, it looked straight out of a fairy tale. This had to be some kind of trick by a Special._

_Because there was no way in hell there was a dragon standing in front of him._

"_Noah?"_

_His options didn't look too good. It was either: one, some kind of illusion, which meant he was being watched, two, some kind of mindbuggery, which was extremely unlikely since the two people capable of such things weren't out for his blood, or three, it was real, and therefore able to kill. Knowing his luck, it was probably the third._

_He reached for the tranquilliser gun and pistol in his pocket. It narrowed its yellow eyes at him, hissing; an obvious warning. More importantly, it meant the creature was intelligent and knew what he'd been trying to do. This didn't help his chances of survival, unfortunately._

"_Kaylee?" Noah said, quietly, as the creature took a step forward, its unblinking gaze remaining on him._

"_Yeah," she replied, sounding out of breath._

"_Wait. Don't come near my position right now."_

"_What? Noah, what're you doing? " She was agitated now._

_He reached more slowly for the gun this time. No sudden moves._

_It yawned at him, exposing razor-sharp canines. Sucking in air._

_Air… Oxygen… _

_Dragon… _Oh shit. _Noah grabbed both the tranquilliser and pistol, firing both at the creature._

_It spat flames as it leapt forward, charring his right arm and melting the plastic of the tranquilliser gun. Noah screamed in agony as it raked sharp talons across his chest, scoring deep wounds._

_He rolled over, trying to shake it off as it bit his other arm. Convulsively, his finger pulled the trigger of the pistol, burying three bullets into the animal's unscaled underbelly. It roared in pain, slashing him across the face and flicking the weapon away with a swipe of its tail._

_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._

_Suddenly, the world seemed to be filled with those three bullets, dropping onto the ground, the wounds healing over_

"_NOAH!"_

_It sniffed the air, and took off, soaring into the night._

_No. Not it. _Him._ Sylar._

* * *

_Kaylee reached him, saw the horrific extent of his injuries, then carried him back to the car, moving as fast as she could without injuring him further. Placing him carefully in the back, she leapt into the car, flooring the accelerator and driving at almost-impossible speeds as she pushed the technology to its limits._

_The outside of the care shuffled, flipping itself into the shape of an ambulance. It screeched as Kaylee turned around to see her partner moaning in pain. Standing up from the wheel, she pulled out a couple of dressings, staunching the bleeding as best she could as the vehicle speeded away on autopilot to the nearest A&E._

"_Hang in there, Noah…"_

* * *

Peter stumbled backwards. _No. No. I couldn't have… I can't even lift a salt shaker telekinetically any more – _

_There's no use just _denying _it, Peter, _Sylar sang.

_You did this?_ Peter asked, horrified.

"Peter?" asked one of his female colleagues – Zoey, he recalled.

_We did. Plural first person pronoun._

_I wouldn't have – _

_Would you?_

"Shut up," he muttered under his breath.

Zoey looked up, startled. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little…" He paused, trying to find an appropriate word.

_Going insane already? _Sylar taunted.

"…distracted," Peter finished.

She looked doubtful, but let him get on with the work.

_

* * *

_

You take control at nighttime. When I'm sleeping. So, all I need to do to stop you is to stay awake…

_Good luck with that._

* * *

Ten hours later, Peter was still working like a demon. It was now noon, and he hadn't slept or gone home despite Zoey's attempts at persuasion.

_You can't keep this up for ever, Peter._

His boss approached him, looking tired. "Peter. You need to get some sleep."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"Your shift ended five hours ago. Go. Move it, buddy."

Reluctantly, Peter left the hospital, stopping by at a Starbucks for a coffee before dropping by the supermarket to stock up on caffeine pills and walking back to his apartment. He figured he could probably keep this up for a while, since – _if_ he had his abilities back – Claire's cellular regeneration would mend any damage that excessive caffeine would cause. Which reminded him.

He sat down on his bed, and focused on the now-empty cup of coffee on the bedside table. He wanted confirmation. Peter recalled the feeling of telekinesis, the tingle on your skin.

The cup leapt towards his hand.

_Confirmation enough for you?_

Detached, cold, Peter watched as the Styrofoam froze, then disintegrated in his hand, leaving nothing but ash in his hand. He stood up.

_Yes._

* * *

_~you can't fight this~_

* * *

Please review. Unfortunately, I don't know when part 3 will be up since I can't write or post during the holidays - work calls to me. Kudos to you if you spotted all the culture references.


	3. Abyss Redux

The (hopefully slightly less confusing) new version of chapter 3 is here. Chapter 4 will have to wait until September, but this might get redone again depending on what people say about it. Please let me know if it makes sense or not, or just... well... review.

* * *

_"If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." - Nietzsche_

* * *

_The two of them were running away from Sylar. He was chasing them, Claire and Peter holding hands, managing to sta__y just out of his sight by dodging into narrow alleyways between apartment blocks. He knew, though, that Sylar was too strong, that he'd catch up. Peter wasn't certain what the red pulsing orb in his arms was, but it was vulnerable and needed protecting._

"_Peter… you can't just keep running."_

"_We've got to. Otherwise he'll catch us," Peter replied, out of breath._

"_If you give it to me, I can help protect you!"_

_He hesitated, as Sylar's footsteps echoed down the alley, then passed it over reluctantly. It felt like he was giving something important up, as the sphere was gently placed in Claire's warm hands and Peter removed his from the precious object – _

* * *

_In Soviet Russia__**,**__ cheerleader saves you!_

* * *

Claire Bennet woke up in Peter Petrelli's apartment at approximately 7am.

(This was _not_ due to the fact that they had some kind of sexual relationship.)

She opened her eyes, shut them, opened them again. Looked down, checked herself in the mirror, then smiled slightly.

_Bitch, _snarled Sylar. _Let me out._

_Don't even bother asking._

She felt him struggle internally against her, but resisted. After a few seconds, the pressure eased off.

_Screw you, _he said angrily.

Claire ignored this, as she reached for Peter's mobile phone, picking it up. She flicked through the address book until she hit the number she was looking for, and pressed the call button. She raised the phone to her ear just as someone picked up on the other end. _Lucky, huh?_

"_Hello?"_ It wasn't Matt, as she'd hoped it would be, but his wife Janice instead.

"I'd like to speak to Matt Parkman, please."

"_My husband's at work. Who is this, please?"_

"Claire Bennet." This would complicate things. "It's pretty important."

"_You want me to leave a message for when he gets back?"_

"Tell him that he needs to come to New York as soon as possible with the Hatian. It's Peter. He'll understand."

"_Fair enough," _Janice said doubtfully. _"How do you know him?"_

"I met him a few times. He saved my life more than once."

"_I'll pass the message on."_

"Thanks," she replied.

There was a click as Janice hung up on the other end of the phone. She followed up by tapping in another phone number. This one was rather more familiar to her – the Petrelli household number. It took rather longer for someone to pick up this time.

"_Peter?" _Angela.

"Angela, it's Claire here. Not Peter."

"_You're at his apartment?" _She sounded worried.

"Yes. You need to get everyone out of New York."

"_Claire, what are you talking about?"_

"I know what you did to Nathan."

"_I haven't done anything to Nathan." _It wasn't a lie, admittedly, but Claire still noted the slight catch in Angela's voice. _"Why are you talking to me about your father?"_

Claire sighed. "Fine. I know what you did to _Sylar_."

"_He's dead, Claire." _This time, she felt her skin tingle. _"You know that."_

"Don't bother lying to me."

There was a pause. _"How did you find out?"_

"He hasn't been himself recently." _Ha. _

"_I wanted to keep Nathan. I didn't want to lose your father again…"_

"You need to leave New York."

"_I can have his memories removed again. Don't you want him alive?" _Her voice sounded close to breaking.

"He isn't Nathan, and it'll happen again. Besides which, I doubt Matt will be eager to repeat the experience again." _Harsh, but true. And necessary._

There was a pause, then Claire heard the doorbell chime. _"Wait."_

Silence, then, faintly audible over the telephone, her own voice. _"I was visiting Noah at the hospital… they said he should be fine." Oh shit._

"_That's good to know," _Angela replied calmly, then walked back to the phone. _"Who are you?"_

"A friend. You're losing your other son, Peter."

"_Are you from the future?"_

Claire hesitated. "No."

"_Angela, who is it?"_

"I need to ask you a favour. Get out of New York."

"_I can't…"_

"_Is it Peter?"_

"Pass the phone over to her, please," Claire ordered.

"_Hello? Who is this?"_

She deepened her voice slightly, changing the modulation to Peter's instead of her own. "Peter. You need to get out of New York."

"_What?! Why?"_

"Sylar's father is coming."

"_So you want me to get out of the way?"_

Claire sighed. "I… don't want you to get hurt."

"_I _can't_ get hurt, remember?" _came the bitter reply.

"And if he gets your ability, he won't be able to die. One super-powered serial killer was enough trouble, but another one?"

"_Fine. As long as you come with me."_

She laughed. "I wish. Work calls… I'm sorry," and hung up.

_Done with making phone calls to yourself? _Sylar was back again.

Claire ignored this, making herself reasonably acceptable to the rest of the human race before making breakfast.

* * *

After cheese toasties, Peter was still showing no signs of surfacing; he still appeared to be unconscious. _Either that or he's gone completely, _she mused.

_Now wouldn't that be a shame?_

_Shut UP, Sylar. _She made her way towards the door after doing the washing up just as the doorbell rang.

Claire opened the door to see Samson Gray.

_Ah… a good old family reunion._

He stared at her. "Who are you?"

She gave him her best sunny smile, despite the fact that Sylar (and, as an extension of that, she) knew that the man currently standing in front of her was responsible for several deaths. "Claire Bennet."

_Come on. Let me. He's _my_ father, after all, _he wheedled.

_And he did such a great job of it, _she retorted.

_Touché._

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I'm Samson Gray." He held out a hand for her to shake, which she ignored. "I was hoping Peter Petrelli might be in?"

_He already knows who you are. I'm guessing you're number one or two on his little list, _Sylar said unexpectedly.

She shook her head. "Nope, sorry. I'm his niece."

"Ah." He nodded. "I was hoping to meet Peter, actually, since I heard he works at the hospital here. I rather thought he'd be able to help me." _Two truths and a lie._

Claire looked concerned. "Are you ill?"

He nodded. "Yes. But you'll be able to help me with that. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to be this fortunate."

_I'm taking over from here, Claire._

_No. _She shuddered as Sylar tried to take over the body. A kitchen knife leapt out from the chopping block as Samson's paralysing whistling washed over her, immobilising Claire.

It was all the opening he'd needed. Samson was flung against the wall by a pulse of energy, hitting it hard with a sickening _crack_. Looking at him, Sylar could tell his spine was broken. Paralysed, but at least his father's brain was intact.

He smiled. "Hello, Dad."

Samson's eyes widened. _How did he – _

"Shapeshifting," Sylar said, with a shrug, answering the unspoken question. "It's cute, actually, almost like a family reunion. Except without the drunken aunt."

_Please…_

Sylar reached out for his father's forehead, neatly removing the top of the skull in a surgical manner that Peter would probably have been quite proud of; clean, straight through the bone, without any damage to the actual brain itself.

_Is this what makes you happy? _Claire said quietly, as he cleaned up, getting rid of the body as Peter faded gently into consciousness once more.

He didn't reply.

_Why are you cleaning up?_

_Because I like screwing with Peter's mind._

* * *

Peter awoke with a jolt. About half a second later, he realised he'd fallen asleep.

_What the hell did I do this time? _he panicked.

_I cleared up my mess this time. Satisfied?  
_

_Read: "Oh, my father Samson Gray arrived at your apartment and tried to kill us, so I dealt with him. And when I say 'dealt', I actually mean 'sliced open his skull and looked at his brain' instead." _Claire's sarcasm reverberated through Peter's skull.

_I _did_ clean up afterwards, though._

Peter stared at the wall. _Okay. I can do this…_

He focused, as both voices vanished, leaving him in silence. He inhaled again.

_Not. Losing. It._

* * *

At work in the night, Peter was with Noah again. This time, though, the man was recuperating, no longer critical.

Peter tended to him in silence, all too aware of the way the man's injuries were caused by his hands.

* * *

"Nathan? Are you all right?" Angela asked, concerned, climbing the stairs to her eldest son's bedroom. There was a quiet noise coming from upstairs, just about audible to her. Crying, maybe; whatever it was, it wasn't a good sign.

_The warning… who was that? _she wondered, as she made her progress upstairs. _Claire, from the future?_

* * *

Suddenly, Noah's eyes flickered open, glanced from side to side.

"Peter?"

* * *

The soles of her shoes made clicking noises as she stepped on the marble.

Closer now, she was certain that someone was crying. Sy - Nathan, maybe. She needed to talk to Matt Parkman about that; it seemed he was starting to have his other abilities showing through. Unfortunately, all she'd had from Parkman were messages saying, _This caller is unavailable. Please dial again later._

* * *

"Noah. You're awake." Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where am I?" Noah asked, voice raspy.

"The hospital."

"Water. I need water."

* * *

The bedroom was empty, but the noise was louder now, emanating from the attached bathroom.

Angela caught her breath at the shadow visible behind the door, afraid of what might be awaiting her there. She reached to push the door wide open, hoping against hope that it would be Nathan, not Sylar there to greet her eyes.

* * *

Peter went to get a glass. When he came back, Noah had pulled himself into an upright sitting position.

"You shouldn't strain yourself," Peter said, passing the glass over.

Noah drank, first taking tentative sips, then larger mouthfuls, setting the empty glass back down on the bedside table, closing his eyes.

"It itches," he muttered.

"That would be the healing process," Peter said quietly.

Noah lifted up a stiff arm. "Nothing actually _hurts_, though. Did you do something?"

"Not consciously, no."

Noah glanced around for other people. Eventually satisfied that nobody else was around, he said quietly, "I need to tell you something."

* * *

The door swung open to reveal the figure of her youngest son hunched up in the foetal position in Nathan's bathroom. Angela stared in shock.

"Peter?"

* * *

Peter leaned forwards.

"Angela didn't want me to tell you this, but… you need to know."

"Need to know what?"

* * *

"Nathan…" he whispered.

She stepped forwards to embrace him, hugging him tightly.

_I'll never lose you…_

* * *

"You remember that night at Coyote Sands when we burnt Sylar's body?"

* * *

He shuddered in her arms.

"He's dead. Isn't he?"

* * *

"Yes."

* * *

"I'm so sorry…" Angela whispered, eyes hot with unshed tears.

He suddenly became very still in her arms.

* * *

_-tic-_

* * *

"That wasn't Sylar. Angela insisted Matt wipe Sylar's memories. Make him think he was your brother."

* * *

"You switched – "

* * *

"My brother – "

* * *

"Me - "

* * *

"With a serial killer – "

* * *

"And hoped no-one would notice?"

Peter's voice was steady, at the same volume and pitch, betraying no signs of emotion. The electric lights flickered as the glass hummed, vibrating slightly, the only signs of his anger.

"Angela – "

* * *

"I didn't want to lose Nathan…"

"So you replaced him with the less important son. The younger one."

"No," Angela whispered.

"The weaker one. The hospice _nurse_," he spat.

"No, no, no…"

"The _worthless_ son." All the words they'd hurled at him, and blood, so much blood that felt like ice now. He felt cold; nothing she could say would touch him now. "So you had me replaced with a serial killer instead. Wonder if he did any better?" he asked sarcastically.

_Much better, thank you_.

"Please," she sobbed, and then was silent.

* * *

_-tic-_

* * *

Peter stared at the man in front of him.

_You should have let him die. _Sylar was back.

_We don't need your input, _bit Claire.

"You _let_ her?"

"I didn't have much choice in the matter," Noah said quietly.

The fluorescent lights overhead burst as the water glass shattered into pieces.

"Peter!" Noah yelled, as the other man vanished in a rush of air. He swore as the glass sliced him, droplets of blood pattering down from thin air as another nurse rushed into the ward.

* * *

He let go of her, suddenly realising she was cold. Too cold.

Touching her arm, it was slick with ice.

Horrified, he realised he'd frozen her.

_About time you got rid of the bitch, _came the whispers in his ear again.

_No. No. I swear, I didn't mean it, I didn't want this – _He touched her again. Still ice. Frozen solid in place.

_Yes. You did._

He stared sightlessly around him, Angela fixed in place like a silent statue.

_I don't deserve to live._

He turned around, searching for something. He found a glimmer of silver, the mirror, moved forward unconsciously towards it. Looking in the mirror, he no longer looked like Peter, or Nathan, or Sylar. He wasn't even sure who he was any more; the face in the mirror he saw had components of all three brothers. It was as if somebody had tried to create an amalgamation of all three.

_If you don't want to live… I'll take over. I'd quite like my body back._

_I won't let that happen._

He clenched his fist. Punched the mirror, once, twice, three times until it finally shattered, the façade breaking around him, leaving his blood on the shards.

His knuckles were split to the bone, but he didn't care any more as Sylar strained to be free again. _I can't let that happen._

He reached down towards a large piece of the shattered mirror, flesh and skin already reforming.

_I am destroying a monster. _Hands traced the plates, searching for the part of the brain with the sweet spot.

_You'd die without ever remembering?_

_I know what I did. _He angled it at the base of the skull.

Drove it in.

Hard.

* * *

He got there too late.

All the people he'd passed with Daphne's ability were stock still, like marble statues or flies trapped in amber, some of them in unnatural poses that nobody would normally be able to keep up for more than a second. Frozen in time.

It took him less than a second of real time to get back to the house, literally flying up the stairs. Searching for life. Something. Anything…

Ice made a statue of his mother.

Peter stared at the slick ice sculpture, then his eyes shifted downwards to the darker shape at his feet. He could make out the glitter of glass in the back of the skull, buried deeply in the brain. The man's hands were clutched around it.

_Sylar, probably, _Peter thought. _Why would he kill himself?_

_It's fascinating, really, _Sylar said quietly._ Turns out you _were_ stronger after all. It broke him._

_Him? He isn't you?_

He cautiously turned the man over so he could see the face. It wasn't anyone he recognised, exactly, though there were enough similar features for the man to be mistaken as a member of his family. It was… disturbing.

_Not directly.

* * *

_

The lil' green button is there. Press it. You know you want to.

* * *


	4. From The Darkness

...okay, you can kill me now. I know I promised this would be updated sooner, but real life (namely UCAS forms and entrance exams) got in the way, and it ended up waiting until November before it finally got finished. I apologise sincerely.

* * *

_I wasn't always like this. I didn't always wear this face. But I can't go back to where I came from, because there isn't a 'back' to go to, if I do this right._

There was a funeral: family and close friends only for Angela. Noah had recovered sufficiently to be able to come. Stony-faced, watching the coffin being lowered into the earth. Buried along with the Company.

"I'm sorry," Noah said quietly, and left.

* * *

There wasn't anybody he knew who'd come for Sylar's funeral; _that_ person's body was cremated. Personally, in fact. He'd used Meredith's ability to burn the body somewhere private.

He kept the ashes.

* * *

Matt Parkman hesitated before knocking on the door. He couldn't hear anybody's thoughts, a surefire indicator that the Hatian was nearby.

He'd probably wake up in a back alley with no recollection of what he was doing. If he was lucky. _This is for Peter, _he reminded himself.

But on the bright side, he did at least manage to _find_ the man.

He knocked, twice.

The door swung open of its own accord, as Matt stepped cautiously inside, eyes adjusting to the gloom.

"Matt Parkman," said the Hatian quietly, looking up at his visitor.

Matt took a deep breath. "I need your help."

"No."

Matt stared. "I'm sorry? I – you haven't even heard what I was about to say – "

"I apologise, but the monsters you create are your own responsibility. I cannot help you even if I wanted to." The Hatian stood up from his seat with an air of finality that suggested this conversation was over.

He left.

* * *

Peter slipped into a semi-routine that avoided sleeping for three, maybe four days consecutive, then semi-dozing for a few hours, never entering a state of true unconsciousness.

It couldn't last. Not like this.

* * *

He knocked on the door of a very familiar place.

In a way, it felt like going back to the beginning again at the end, where it all started.

Mohinder opened the door, and stared. "Peter?"

"Yeah. It's me." He slipped under Mohinder's arm into the laboratory.

"_God_, Pete. You look like shit."

"Thanks," he replied dryly.

"What do you want?" Mohinder asked, closing the door behind Peter.

He swallowed. "I've been having problems."

"Peter-san!" Hiro cried happily from his seat. He was currently strapped in with an IV stand next to him, the line running into his arm. Ando stood up from the chair next to him, nodding at him warily.

Peter frowned. "What're you doing here?" he asked, as he pulled over a spare chair and sat on it.

"Hiro has been having… problems with his ability. It seems that Arthur attempted to remove it, but he caused severe damage to Hiro's brain in the process." There was a quiet snicker in Peter's mind as Mohinder gestured at the machinery by the side. "I was running some samples to find out whether the damage is repairable or not, although it's not going very well right now." He gave Peter a calculating look. "Although the work may be faster now we have two subjects, since your father took your ability as well…"

Peter shifted uncomfortably at this point as Mohinder hastily corrected himself. "I was referring to blood tests. But… you didn't mention what kind of problems."

"You're aware I took Sylar's shapeshifting ability?"

"Yes."

"It's been getting out of control recently."

"By which you mean…"

"I do it unconsciously. In my sleep."

Mohinder stared. "When you're sleeping?"

He felt a twinge of irritation. "That's what I just said."

"Who?"

"People I know. Whoever I've dreamt about that night."

"So you haven't been sleeping because of that?"

"No."

Hiro spoke up. "But if your ability is working, you can undo it!"

"You don't understand… Those people are real. They're not _me_."

Mohinder frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

He took a deep breath. "The last time I went to sleep, I dreamt of Sylar and Claire. The morning after, I woke up with dirt on my shoes and something red I'm pretty sure wasn't ketchup. _Do you understand_?"

"You wouldn't kill someone, Peter."

"No. _I_ wouldn't. That's what I'm trying to say."

There was a pause.

"But _he_ would." It wasn't a question, as Mohinder licked his lips. He swallowed visibly. "Right."

"You said you wanted a blood sample?" Peter proffered his arm, but Mohinder didn't move, staying stock still and watching Peter like –

_Fear. He stinks of it. All of them do now. They're afraid of you. As they should be right now._

"It won't happen unless I lose consciousness," Peter said, answering the unspoken question.

Mohinder slumped slightly. "Then we won't know what's sparking the problem in the first place…"

His eyes drifted over the equipment in the laboratory as Peter tried to come up with a solution, something that would be viable…

"Do you have any restraint bands around?"

* * *

"Is he even going to be able to sleep like that?" Hiro asked Ando in Japanese, as he helped fasten Peter securely to the table.

Ando shrugged. "Maybe. I'm more worried about whether it happens again. I don't like the idea of facing Sylar, even if he _is_ tied up."

"_Hai._" Hiro adjusted his spectacles grimly. "But we could stop him last time - we can do it again."

Mohinder glanced up from Peter's leg. "You're worried as well, I take it."

"You're not the only ones," Peter spoke up from the table. It _was _uncomfortable, but if this did anything to help he was willing to take that path.

Ando finished with his strap, stepping back as Mohinder finished, picking up a syringe and sterile needle. He clipped the two together.

"Hiro? Are you done?"

He nodded.

Mohinder stepped up to Peter, leaning over the man so he could see his face properly. "I'm just going to take a blood sample and run some tests on it. It might have some clues as to what is happening for you and Hiro…"

Peter felt a slight prick as the needle slid smoothly into a vein in his arm, then was removed. Mohinder reached for a tissue to wipe away the small drop of blood that had formed, then stopped.

"Mohinder?"

The man stared at Peter's arm, then the half-full syringe.

"What is it?" asked Hiro.

"There's no scar."

"Claire's ability came back. Among other things."

Mohinder took a deep breath. "O_kay_. That complicates things."

"In case he comes back… there's something I need you to know." Peter closed his eyes shut. "There's a sweet spot on the brain. Centre of the forehead. If you put something through there and make it stick, I'll die… until it's removed."

Hiro looked horrified. "You want us to kill you?"

"Temporarily. If necessary."

"What if you don't come back?" Mohinder asked quietly.

"Then burn the body."

Ando struggled for words. "That seems… _extreme._"

"Please?"

Mohinder let out a breath. "Fine."

Hiro frowned, biting his lip. "Very well. But Ando and I will not let that happen! And neither will Mohinder," he added as an afterthought.

"Fine," Ando said reluctantly.

"Good."

* * *

Peter could hear Mohinder working in the next room, working on a computer. From their breathing and heart rates, he could tell that Ando was anxious, awake and sitting down next to a sleeping Hiro, who was snoring gently.

"_Are you _afraid,_ Peter?" _The man appeared out of nowhere, and sat down on the chair next to Hiro.

_No. I'm not._

"_Don't bother lying to me. The least you could do is _admit_ it."_

"You're not even real," he muttered. "How come I didn't get Claire instead?"

Hiro jerked awake at the sound of Peter's voice. "Peter?"

"It's nothing, Hiro."

Sylar laughed slightly. _"If you say so."_

He heard footsteps as Mohinder came into the room, heartbeat slightly faster than usual. Probably just tension, or maybe there was bad news as well... no. Definitely faster than before. He felt his heart speed up in response.

"It's not good news," the Indian man said grimly.

"What is it?" Ando asked, standing up.

"The problem is that Hiro's and Peter's genetic structures seem to be unravelling by themselves. The difference is that Peter still has Claire's ability, so the DNA can still restructure itself, although the process seems to be happening faster…"

"_Oops. Guess I might have done more internal damage than I intended."_

Hiro swallowed. "That doesn't sound good."

"It isn't. Hiro… I'm sorry. Maybe if you could find Claire, the damage could be fixed permanently with her blood – "

"_It can't be fixed with her blood, the underlying problem's still there. _You_ understand, don't you? The ability's killing him."_

" – but Peter…" Mohinder trailed off.

"What is it?"

"It seems to be in equilibrium. Your DNA… it's like nothing I've seen before. Not even Sylar, although his was probably closest…"

"Is that good or bad?"

"…but it's unstable. Absorbing more abilities would probably throw the balance towards destruction. The shapeshifting probably isn't helping either, but I wouldn't know for certain yet."

"You're telling me I'm going to die if I use that ability again."

It wasn't a question.

Mohinder hesitated before answering. "It's probable."

Peter laughed bitterly. "Right. So I'm never allowed to sleep again?"

"I don't know to what extent the damage would be if you used it, but…"

"_Ouch."_ Sylar let out a low whistle._ "That's gotta hurt. Of course, you could always find somebody with an insomniac ability and take it… if it doesn't kill you."_

"…the only other option I can think of is to lose that ability altogether."

"_It wouldn't be pretty, though. You were a paramedic… ever seen somebody's body explode?"_

"SHUT UP!" Peter yelled.

"Peter?" Mohinder sounded afraid as Hiro drew his sword.

Peter took a deep breath. "Sorry. _He's_ not helping."

"You can actually hear him?" Mohinder asked, horrified.

"Yes."

"Peter… why didn't you tell someone before? We could have helped."

He stared silently at the ceiling, watching the fluorescent light above as it flickered slightly.

"…Peter?"

"Still here."

"Good." Mohinder drew a sharp breath. "Well, we'll just have to be careful."

"I shouldn't have come here," Peter muttered.

"You should have come earlier, but I think we might still be able to help you. I'll need to run further results, though…" His voice trailed off as he left the room.

Peter tried to relax, insofar as that was possible with a Japanese man holding a sword near his head and another with the ability to throw highly lethal crimson energy bolts around.

"It is alright, Peter Petrelli. Ando and Mohinder and I will not let you die because of Sylar," Hiro said quietly.

He wasn't entirely comforted by this, but nonetheless replied, "Thanks."

* * *

It took a long time to drift off, mainly because he didn't want to. Peter could still feel the predator there, waiting in the shadows for a gap, an opportunity to take over. And he couldn't let that happen…

"_Sleep, Peter." _Sylar stood up to stroke his forehead, humming an unfamiliar lullaby of some kind.

_Tired…_

* * *

"_Where are we this time?"_

"_Home." He laughed._

* * *

Hiro saw the split-second that Peter's eyelids drooped to slide shut. He tensed.

Nothing happened.

He relaxed slightly. _Maybe Peter-san – _

Peter's eyes flew open again, darker than before.

"_Boo,"_ he whispered.

Hiro's eyes widened, as he simultaneously stopped time and brought the sword, point down, hard, into the sweet spot, centre of the forehead –

And drove it into the pillow lying on the metal table.

He stared, then frantically tried to tug it out. It leapt out unexpectedly, causing him to fall over backwards with the blade.

"_What was it you said?"_

On the floor, he stared up at Peter's face, that lopsided smile on his face widening by the second.

"'_I will tell you how you die.'"_

Hiro's arm jerked up to attempt a desperate slash. Time wouldn't stop again for him, and he couldn't slow the man down any more. The sword's path was stopped by a single bare hand. He grabbed the blade, the smile turning into a smirk as blood ran down it. A shudder ran under the skin as Sylar discarded Peter's face for his own.

"'_You die alone.'"_

Sylar's grip tightened. The sword was yanked out of Hiro's hands as the man pulled, hard.

"'_No-one will mourn your death.'"_

He tossed the blade aside effortlessly, where it hung in the air, outside of his temporal influence.

"_And do you know why, Hiro?" _the man asked.

Hiro attempted to teleport. His body shuddered with the failed effort. He felt something wet, and lifting his hand back up to his face, found blood. He attempted to get up once more, only to be held down by an invisible pressure.

"_Because it won't make any difference. They'll all die. And then we'll be the only ones left."_

"No," Hiro whispered. "Peter is stronger than you."

The man cocked his head sideways. _"Haven't you remembered?"_

His fingers twitched. There was a crack.

"_I _am_ Peter. And that's why you can have a _clean_ death."_

Everything faded into darkness.

_I'm sorry, Ando…_

* * *

Ando and Mohinder started at the disappearance of Hiro, Ando quickly charging his fist with red lightning.

Mohinder was the first to see the slumped body on the floor, and the man standing in front of it, his back to the pair.

"No!" Ando yelled. The size of the energy sphere in his hand increased dramatically, as he lunged, his fist swinging towards the man's back.

One second his fist was about to connect and make a sizeable hole in Sylar's back, the next, he'd turned around to catch Ando's fist in his hand.

Ando stared in shock as the light was sucked out completely, to reappear as a condensed white sphere in Sylar's other hand. It contracted.

The lights went out as it expanded explosively, ripping the entire room apart and tearing the building open.

* * *

Matt heard the explosion, breaking into a sprint up the stairs as they shook violently. He had to get there before something worse happened.

_Mohinder,_ he thought, _Ando, Hiro, I hope you're still alive…_

The stairs weren't blocked entirely by rubble, but the rubble on the previous floor was now explained by the gaping hole in the floor and walls.

He reached out mentally. Nothing, nobody alive.

No. That was a lie, wasn't it?

There was a slight cough, as Matt's head whipped around to pinpoint the source of the noise, under the debris.

And _now_ he could hear, voices, all clamouring to be heard, Mohinder, Claire, Hiro, Micah, Molly, himself amongst others he couldn't recognise and who were probably dead.

_You have to help him. Please._

_Matt Parkman-san!_

_- only a sixty-five per cent chance of success, but you don't have a choice._

_This is why they should all die..._

…_Matt? Is that you?_

_Thank God, you're here!_

"Daphne?" he asked incredulously. "Is that you?" He stepped closer, to the half-buried body, flesh growing back into place.

_You have to tell him to go back before – _Claire's mental voice was cut short.

_Matt. You've got to kill me._

"Peter… what happened?"

_I lost control._

_Send him back! _Claire yelled, anguished._ You can't just let him die, it'll happen again!_

_I can show you where the pieces must go, _came a quiet, almost toneless voice he didn't recognise.

Matt reached down to the temples of the other man, delving into the depths of his mind, setting instructions into place.

He was cut short when a hand clamped around his neck.

"You." Sylar growled, then stopped as he shuddered, muscles and bone moving under skin into new positions. "What did you do to us?"

"You won't exist any more," Matt gasped, as he dropped onto the rubble, the grip released. "You'll be dead. More or less."

Sylar stared at Matt, shocked. "But I can't – "

He vanished.

Matt let out a breath, and silently hoped that it had worked. He slumped, and prayed for the best.

* * *

_Breathe._

_Blink. Open your eyes._

A brick wall was visible.

She turned around to see the end of the alley in bright sunshine.

" – two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? – " A group of cheerleaders went past, practising some routine or other.

She looked down at her hands. For some reason, they were unfamiliar, and for a second an image flashed across her mind, larger hands glowing red with energy.

She shook her head to dispel the image.

Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.

"Hi. Are you lost?" asked the blonde – _Claire, her name is Claire._

"Uh, I just got here," she replied, slightly confused.

Claire smiled. "That's okay. Where're you from?"

"New York," she replied uncertainly. She wasn't entirely sure about this right now, although the answer _felt_ right. "Where is this?"

The other girl laughed. "Gee, did you really get that lost? This is Texas."

"Texas," she repeated. "And you're Claire, right?"

"Yeah." Claire frowned slightly. "Have I met you before or something? What's your name?"

She considered this for a few seconds.

_What_ is_ my name? _Words flickered to mind – Simone, Caitlin, Molly, Elle – but none of them seemed to fit, with the only two that did being wrong for her gender.

She realised that Claire was still waiting for an answer, and replied with the first appropriate one that came to mind.

"Gabrielle."

Claire smiled again. "Nice to meet you, Gabrielle."

"Yeah," she replied absentmindedly.

There was something she had to do. Something about Homecoming Queen.

* * *

* * *


End file.
